


Simple as That.

by RedStarFiction



Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Bipolar Ian, Drunk Ian, Gallavich, M/M, POV Mickey, Protective Mickey Milkovich
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 03:22:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11935287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStarFiction/pseuds/RedStarFiction
Summary: Set during Ian's time as a dancer before his diagnosis a Shameless imagine of what might have happened if Mickey had gone to look out for Ian and found him getting out of his depth.https://shamelessly4shameless.tumblr.com/





	1. Chapter 1

Mickey watched Ian dance beneath the strobe lights of the club and clenched his jaw. He hated every single person in that club, hated them with a fierce burn in his chest that left him breathless. All the old perverts studying the curve of Ian’s cheek, the smattering of golden hair on his chest and trying to catch their haggered old reflections the sequins of the stupid shorts he was wearing. The only thing that stopped him from knocking someone’s teeth down their throat was the knowledge that if he did so, he would get kicked out and Ian would be alone in here with no one watching out for him.

Mickey bit his full bottom lip looked away as Ian shimmied his hips and slid his ass down one of the many poles sticking out of the bar. An young man, perhaps thirty, reached up and tucked a few dollar bills into the waist of Ian’s shorts. Ian’s eyes flickered toward the movement but he didn’t really seem to even notice it. Mickey didn’t know whether that was due to coke, booze or something else, he wanted to find out but to do so would mean letting Ian know he was here.

A siren went off over the cocktail bar and Ian threw his head back and howled along with half a dozen other dancers, clapping his hands over his head before leaping from the bar and making a clumsy run toward the noise. Mickey jumped to his feet and tried to follow Ian’s movement but too many people were crowding forward.

“What the fuck …?”

Mickey squinted after Ian as dry ice swirled around him. A hand grabbed his ass but was gone before Mickey could grab it and make the man it was attached to regret that particular fucking decision. 

He started shoving his way through the crowd ignoring the indignant shouts that followed in his wake, he dodged around a group of four men wearing leather outfits which looked to Mickey like something out of a shitty vampire movie and looked up at the blue and white strobe lit stage before him. The music was soft trance, gentle and rhythmic and not the harsh pop tunes that had played at the front of the club.

Seven dancers were lined up, each one had been smeared in glitter, it reflected from them like fish under the shimmering blue of a tranquil sea and they moved as guilelessly. Ian was on the far left, his eyes were fogged, unseeing, but the routine was clearly familiar to him as he barely missed a single step. 

Mickey was utterly transfixed, the rest of the club had seemed seedy and dank but this … this was beautiful, it was like art. Living art and the men performing were breathtaking. Ian … his Ian … Mickey had not known he could move like that. He felt a lump rise in his throat and for the first time that evening, he smiled a genuine smile. 

All at once the music screeched to a halt and the pulsing blue and white light went out plunging them into darkness. The crowd roared it’s anticipation and Mickey looked round in confusion. What now?

Red lights slammed on and a heavy, dragging bass line blared from the speakers. Mickey clapped his hands over his ears and cringed away from the sound. 

All seven dancers had a partner now, huge men that dwarfed even Ian, Mickey’s heart was thumping against his rib cage like a drum and he watched in horror as these new men began to caress the dancers, turning them this way and that, over-powering them, dominating them. Mickey shook his head to clear the dull pounding in his skull. Arousal, anger, confusion all swirled together and he turned to Ian, helpless to do anything but watch. 

Ian had his eyes closed and was barely moving, his arms hung by his sides and the muscle man behind him seemed fine with that. He nudged Ian’s feet apart when he needed to feign a reach-around and otherwise just did his thing without any involvement from the boy in his arms.

All of the beauty of the last few minutes vanished and Mickey realised that he was clenching his fists hard enough to make his knuckles stand out starkly against his skin, his short nails biting into his palm. Ian wasn’t even enjoying this, this wasn’t something he was doing, it was being done to him!

“Ian! Ian don’t ...”

Mickey didn’t realise he had shouted aloud until his lover’s eyes opened and fixed on his own, dark in the awful red glow. If that had been all Mickey could have born it, he would have found a way to stand and watch silently. But as they stared into each other’s eyes, a single tear tumbled over Ian’s lower lashes and slid down the glitter on his face, trembled on his chin for moment and disappeared into the shadows below. 

Mickey had known pain in his life, far more than any a man of his age had any cause to expect and he had witnessed Ian’s pain before, seen it, caused it and suffered through it but there was something so raw about his tears now … Mickey couldn’t stand it, wouldn’t stand it.

Ian watched the change come over his love’s face. The shock, the hurt, they faded into something Ian recognised even through the haze of narcotics – determination. He watched in disbelief as Mickey shrugged his jacket off, leaving it discarded on the floor behind him and then took hold of the edge of the stage, pulling himself up in one fluid motion. Security lunged forward but Mickey was faster, he crawled forward and then staggered to his feet, his trajectory never wavering. He was coming for Ian.

Mickey saw Ian’s dance partner, if it could be called that, open his mouth in protest, look around for assistance with an almost comical panic and then Mickey was pushing him backwards. He didn’t hit him, not properly, he didn’t need to. The asshole pretty much shoved Ian at Mickey to protect himself.

“Some fuckin’ Top you are!”

Mickey spat after the man’s retreating back. Ian’s arms came around Mickey’s neck and held on for dear life, burying his head in the curve of Mickey’s shoulder.

“Take me home?”

He whispered and Mickey nodded wordlessly against his cheek. Security, realising that whatever the fuck was going on was clearly not unwanted didn’t touch them but yelled at Mickey to get off the damn stage, which he did only too gladly. 

“I’m sorry… I didn’t know you were here. I wouldn’t want you to see it. See me.”

Ian’s words were running in together and he was shivering as Mickey helped him dress and zipped up his hoodie in the staff changing room.

“Later, doesn’t matter right now.”

He muttered, his voice harder than he meant it to be. Sighing, Mickey caught Ian’s face between his palms and looked into his eyes.

“Are you OK?”

“Yeah … no … I’m sorry.”

Ian shook his head and looked ready to cry again. Mickey licked his lip and forced himself to be what Ian needed, striving to find patience and gentle tone of voice

“It don’t matter, OK? C’mon we’re goin’ home.” 

Mickey helped Ian up and got him outside and into a cab. He let Ian rest his head against his shoulder as they drove along and for once didn’t give a fuck what the cab driver thought about it, or anyone else for that matter.  
He should have been fuckin’ homicidal right now, but the truth was that Mickey Milkovich had already forgiven Ian Gallagher for everything he had done and everything he would ever do. None of it mattered to him and although Mickey could not have named it rightly, that feeling was love. As simple as that.


	2. What if I was?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for your comments and opinions. I am on Tumblr as https://shamelessly4shameless.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> Thank you xx

Ian woke up with a groan. His head was pounding and his mouth was unbearably dry. He looked around, wondering with a sort of absent disinterest where he was. The room was familiar but he couldn’t quite place it … Ian half sat up and his breath caught in his throat with an audible hitch as he noticed a shadowy figure sitting in a chair opposite the bed. 

The figure let out a soft snore and Ian blinked, through the haze of his hangover realisation dawned and he smiled gently. Mickey. He was in Mickey’s room. Ian swung his legs out of bed and propped his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out the outline of Mickey’s face.

The straight edge of his lover’s strong nose and the press of his cheekbone against his pale skin. Ian imagined the sweep of dark lashes against his cheek and the softly pouting swell of his lips. He imagined the way Mickey’s hands surely relaxed in sleep, folded neatly on his chest. Ian stood and quietly moved past Mickey to get to the kitchen and take a drink of water before the pounding in his head got worse. 

He didn’t remember changing into sweatpants but then again, Ian barely remembered anything about last night. He didn’t remember how he got to Mickey’s house but guessed that he must have shown up pretty wrecked for Mickey to have decided to sleep away from him. 

Ian drank three glasses of water and was filling up a fourth when he heard a muffled curse and Mickey’s bedroom door flew open, slamming off of the wall. 

“Ian?!”

“I’m here!”  
Ian reached out and tucked the light switch, flooding the room with dim light from the grease-splattered bulb that hung above the kitchen on a loose wire. Mickey shielded his eyes and let out a long exhalation of breath.

“Fuck! I thought you’d split.”

“Nah. I’m here. Just hungover and thirsty.”  
Ian smiled and raised the glass of water to his lips, flexing his bicep as he did so. Mickey’s eyes followed the movement of Ian’s arm and he bit his lower lip, unaware of the action and of the effect it had on Ian, who felt his pulse quicken.

“Hung over? Nah. You’re on a fuckin’ come down.”  
Mickey shook his head and tore his gaze from Ian’s body, looking up to meet his eye.

“Yeah? Maybe. I dunno. I don’t remember coming round here, sorry if it was late.”

“I brought you here, jack-ass. You were wasted and bein’ danced on like some pimp’s ragdoll in that fuckin’ club. I brought you home.”

Mickey scratched the back of his neck and drew a heavy breath through his nose as Ian stared at him clueless.  
“You don’t remember any of it?”

“No. I mean … I remember the club and takin’ something one of the other dancers offered me…”

“Pill or powder?”  
Mickey asked, his eyes hardening with concern in a way that made Ian feel both warm and nervous at the same time. Ian had always been the ‘Top’ in their … whatever this was … but when Mickey took charge, he took charge completely and Ian answered promptly and without hesitation, like a private to his commanding officer.

“Pill I think.”

“Remember the colour?”

“No.”  
Ian shook his head and Mickey made an impatient noise at the back of his throat, stepping forward and putting a hand on either side of Ian’s face, turning his head one way and then the other before using his thumbs to gently pull down Ian’s lower eyelid and examining his eyes.

“Feel sick? Feverish?”

“No, just … just fuckin’ thirsty and like my head is gonna explode.”

Ian caught Mickey’s hands in his own and tried to hold them but Mickey shook him off.

“Good, well you ain’t got that yellow look on your skin so your liver ain’t fucked and your eyes are bloodshot as hell but you’ve hardly slept so that’s not exactly a shocker.”

Mickey stepped back, folding his arms across his chest before unfolding them again and reaching into his pocket for a cigarette.

“Great, thanks nurse!”  
Ian rolled his eyes and Mickey fixed him with a look that brought two bright spots of colour to the redhead’s cheeks. 

“You want to tell me why you were basically letting some gorilla rape you on stage?”

“What?”

“The dance? That guy with the speedos and the red lights and screaming music?”

“Oh.”  
Ian grinned bashfully and ran a hand through his hair  
“That was just this thing … George, my partner, he’s a teddy-bear really. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“He’s a fuckin’ coward. When I got up on that stage …”

“You got up on the stage?”  
Ian’s grin widened despite himself.

“Fuckin’ right I did!”  
Mickey growled through his cigarette   
“He shoved you right at me to get away, what if I was some sort of fuckin’ psycho?”

Ian raised an eyebrow at him and smirked and Mickey closed his eyes briefly, striving for patience before removing the cigarette from his mouth and jabbing it at Ian, sending ash in a dull arc onto the kitchen floor. 

“You do not want to be getting’ smart with me right now, OK? I was worried about you. You were cryin’ up there Ian.”

“Aww Mick. It was probably just the drugs. You know?”  
Ian tried to shrug it off and made as if to head outside but Mickey stepped forward and put a restraining hand out against his chest, pausing him mid-stride.

“No, I don’t know. I ain’t ever seen you like that. It was like you were dead on your feet and that fuckin’ … George… just kept grabbin’ at you until you had tears streamin’ down your fuckin’ face, Ian…”

Mickey broke off, shaking his head at the incomprehension on Ian’s face. He turned away, angrily grinding the end of his cigarette into the ashtray on the table. 

“You can do whatever the fuck you want to do, man.”

Ian hesitated for a moment before putting his arms around Mickey’s shoulders and pulling him close, resting his cheek against the top of Mickey’s head, breathing in the smell of his styling wax and the faint whiff of tobacco that clung stubbornly to Mickey’s hair, even after a shower. 

“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m okay.”  
Ian felt Mickey’s shoulders tense beneath his arms and braced himself for an explosion. He knew the limits of Mickey’s patience were not exactly vast at the best of times and was touched and a little surprised that the conversation had even got this far. But when Micky spoke his voice was gentler than Ian had expected

“You did not seem fuckin’ okay when you were beggin’ me to take you home. Is it the money? I have fuckin’ money, what do you need?”

“Jesus! I’m not your whore, Mickey!”

“Oh fuck you!”  
Mickey pulled out of Ian’s arms and turned to glare at him, his fists trembling by his side, all trace of softness gone  
“Fuck you and fuck me too for being dumb enough to think that tryin’ to help a Gallagher was a good idea!”

“I appreciate it but …”

“You don’t appreciate shit.”  
Mickey grabbed his cigarette packed and furiously lit another smoke, dragging on it hard. He didn’t even want it, just wanted something to do with his hands so that Ian wouldn’t see the way his fingers shook.

“I do but I’m not your boyfriend and you don’t have to take care of me.”

“Well what if you were? Huh?”

“What do you … Are you asking me out?”  
Ian couldn’t help the hopeful, lopsided smile that lit his face and Mickey pursed his lips, unsure whether to take a leap of faith or slap the stupid grin off his face. 

“Maybe. Would it fuckin’ matter if I was?”

Ian nodded silently and bit his lip.  
“Yeah, it would matter.”

His voice was barely above a whisper and Mickey felt his own smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, threatening to reveal his hope and show it to the world. He frowned instead and tapped the ash from the end of his smoke.

“Well fuckin’ okay then. Good. Sort your shit out and stop acting crazy with those fuckin’ ape men.”

“Should I quit the club?”

“I’m not gonna start tellin’ you how to live your fuckin’ life … but yeah. Quit the club.”  
Mickey nodded and glanced upwards at Ian impatiently

“Would you quit grinning at me like that? It’s not a fuckin’ Disney movie.”

“Sorry.”  
Ian tried to stop smiling but couldn’t quite manage it. Mickey drew on his cigarette again and bobbed his head awkwardly. Ian watched him for a moment and realised that now the deal was done, Mickey didn’t have a clue what to do with Ian or with himself.

“You want to go to bed?”

“Yeah, let’s fuckin’ go to bed.”  
Mickey agreed gratefully and stomped toward the bedroom, Ian trailing happily in his wake.


End file.
